


anthos + logia

by Lapifors



Category: Glee
Genre: Drabble Collection, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-06-24 02:46:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15620808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lapifors/pseuds/Lapifors
Summary: A collection of short-form drabbles, long-form ficlets, and unfinished plot concepts featuring Blaine Anderson and Mike Chang.





	1. Nights

**Author's Note:**

> "an·thol·o·gy
> 
> Origin
> 
> mid 17th century: via French or medieval Latin from Greek anthologia, from anthos ‘flower’ + -logia ‘collection’ (from legein ‘gather’). In Greek, the word originally denoted a collection of the “flowers” of verse, i.e., small choice poems or epigrams, by various authors." -- Google Search Description.
> 
> This is a series of works I never published featuring the rarepair bike chanderson (Blaine/Mike). A lot of them were written around 2013-14, and diverges from canon, some being completely au. A lot of them are unfinished, unbeta'd, and may be stylistically dichotomous, bordering on iconoclastic of the source material. Sorry! :P I guess this is a purge, but I don't mean it in the violent ejection it's normally about. It's a closure on a period of love I held, and a hope in moving onto other very rare pairs, hahaha! :) 
> 
> Please note each chapter will have its own warnings, pairings, etc. 
> 
> Anyway. Thank you for reading. I hope somehow I inspired you to think about these characters beyond the confines of their roles on a musical dramedy on FOX.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Nights" is an unfinished one shot, written around April 2013. Warnings for angst. Lots of Blaine angst. I had no idea how season 5 or 6 would be, haha, but it ended up happening like this, a little. Pre-established Blaine/Kurt, as it's canon-based. Pre-slash Blaine/Mike, if you'd like to see it that way. An alternative future where Blaine and Mike are in Chicago, and Blaine never stayed in Lima after breaking up with Kurt and returning from New York City.

His hands are strong and secure, holding Blaine up as they journey through the night, and his clothes are freshly laundered from what Blaine can smell, so different from the noxious and muddled fumes of the bar they have exited a second ago. It is a refreshing scent; summer blue skies come to mind as Blaine prods his nose further into the collar. Mike looks around and Blaine feels the shift in the muscle against his cheek. Murmuring to himself, Mike shrugs his arms up, his grip tighter under Blaine's legs.

"Where's your new place?" Mike asks. His voice carries into Blaine's ear gently and Blaine uses this moment of disorientation as an excuse to run his arms over Mike's shoulders and around Mike’s neck. A beat later, Blaine mumbles back nonsense. "Blaine..." Mike says but Blaine can hear the humor in it. The reprimand is warm, heated up until it's cozy. It’s a nice comfort in his life.

Mike walks around a bend, stops his sneakers at the red light, and watches as lights flash towards him before their luminous tails disappear when they cross the hill, the color like coals of hot ash. Blaine senses each motion of his ride, the mechanics. He marvels at Mike's internal rhythm, at the way his steps are in tempo. Even the scrape of soles on pavement is wondrously musical. It's a well-maintained machine. The night is silent save for their breathing, Blaine's louder as he takes in large gulps to clear vertigo caused by shots after shots of Jäeger-bombs.

It's shameless how many times Mike has been subjugated to this, Blaine against his back, the orange burn of streetlights shining over them. It's his fault. Blaine's, it's a manipulative trick that Blaine plays, taking advantage of "bro code". Blaine's guilt rises with every fumbled swipe into his contacts list, with every hesitant tap onto Mike's name, which is starred as a favorite. Mike never lets it go past a third ring, and Blaine fears for the day he reaches Mike's voicemail. He reckons he is becoming overly dependent. Mike is bound to tire of him soon. Blaine can't help but think these thoughts as they travel deeper into the night.

"If you can't tell me, I'm going to have to take you back to my place and it's, to be frank, messy..." Mike fades as he crosses the street, green tinting the top of his black hair until he gets to the other side. Blaine thinks it wouldn't be a problem.

"Tina has her stuff over."

It is a metaphorical cold slap, awakening him that Blaine slurs an equation of numbers and words which sound correct to him. It must be unintentionally spoken, as Mike doesn't mean to cause venom, Blaine is sure. However, it still has an effect on him, even when he is in an alcohol-induced stupor. As muddled the address is, according to Mike and his nodding, the place must be legitimate.

"We're not getting back together," Mike says, oddly enough, it is not the first time he has mentioned this to Blaine. Blaine doesn't get it and maybe he never will; Mike can conceal his emotions too well when he wants. But there are things Mike is upfront about: that there are necessary sacrifices he must make, that his own wants are nothing compared to what would benefit the group, and that _Footloose_ is a damn good movie despite the alleged cheesiness.

Mike explains how he is lending her some room whilst she has her dorm set up, Blaine’s responses are nods because he doesn't want to discuss about Tina and Mike's _thing_ they have going on really; he is tired of the topic but he likes the sound of Mike's voice, specifically when he is trying to make Blaine feel better by lying. He wasn't going to keep his hopes up, Blaine assures himself, yet when it comes to it... It is rather pathetic to keep calling Mike to pick him up when he can't find his way home. Blaine chooses places that are close to Mike's apartment and his place, bars that are in walking distance, pubs where Mike can easily find him. Blaine likes to spend the short time alone with Mike, feeling like they are the only two people the evening wraps around like a blanket. Leisurely walking, Mike administers no hurry in his speed, giving Blaine the impression and the hope that it is a two-way street, that Mike is enjoying Blaine's company. He presses the side of his cheek on the side of Mike's neck. He can hear Mike's breathing dissolve into relaxed sighs that ripple the muscles.

"Lucky your new apartment isn't that far off from your old dorm," Mike chats quietly; their conversation is one-sided on Mike's part because of Blaine having a difficult time trying not to doze. Mike has a soothing voice, Blaine declares in his head, dulcet tones of soft twilight that is not only enhanced by their lonesome but also brought out brighter by the waning moonlight. Mrs. Jefferson from English 201 always comments Blaine's expositions to be satisfyingly descriptive. Thinking about school has Blaine wonder, about how crazy it is that he has crossed paths with Mike again in a small suburb off of Chicago. With everyone clamoring about New York City, Blaine has been expecting all of William McKinley High's glee club to be traipsing down the well-worn cement of Times Square, belting out an uplifting tune of how they had _made it_ as passerby frown at the spectacle. It was a foolish thought back then, almost as foolish as all of what happened in school, what with the unusual and unnecessary drama that when Blaine thinks in retrospect, isn't such a huge deal than it has seemed to be when he was younger. When Blaine reflects about it, he feels embarrassed on how he has acted, even if it isn't more than just a year ago.

He follows Kurt to New York. His family aren’t happy about it, especially his father and Cooper, the former shaking his head and muttering about how Blaine would have a great recommendation from Dalton right now whilst the latter letting out a piercing whistle between his lips as he then cracks his arm like a whip. His mother is the one who is remotely on Blaine's side, but even she is wary about "a boy who is so wrapped up in having his fantasy of New York come true that he is blind to everything else." She doesn't tell Blaine the identity of whom the boy is, but Blaine has a faint idea. However upon landing in New York, Blaine shoves away all the doubt; Kurt is waiting for him with a whiteboard that has his name written in Kurt's ineligible cursive, loops tall, capitals large, and letters blurry as Blaine's eyes tear up when Kurt's arms slide across his back in embrace. Blaine trips over his shoes when they get into a taxi together and he can't help but imagine strings with cans attached to the fender, the car rushing down the streets and announcing to the world that they have just been married.

But they fight constantly, the same issues arising, things that Blaine has assumed to be resolved, resurfacing again in their suffocating one-room apartment that fits their poor student budgets. Like a whale, it has lurked near the depths, waiting until it could breach to rip from the waters. It takes a loud gulp of air and showing its massive head, it confirms it lives. It starts with Kurt's new friends; Blaine has difficulty getting close to them as he doesn't have the year of experience as Kurt does and soon enough, he is labeled "Kurt's tag-along" by those wrapped in Chanel and Burberry. Blaine tries to not let it show but when Kurt excuses himself to the restroom and the warmth of conversation saps away from Blaine, it becomes too hard to pull up a smile to faces Blaine has seen so many times but are never familiar.

It's an explosion when it ends. Ironically, the actual act is the opposite from the definition. Their voices never raise, thank god because there's enough show going on in that building, and there's no throwing things because they both decide that is all too-done and dabbles into soap opera territory. Despite the reserved anger, the aftermath devastates Blaine and leaves a blackened crater.

"Why aren't you happy?" One night he asks Kurt, hates how those arms are protectively wrapped around that designer jacket.

"Why aren't you?" Kurt echoes, piercing strong voice an odd pair to wet bleary eyes. Kurt is so far away from him across their living room.

Blaine snaps, "I gave up things, I left my school for you, I left my home for you—"

"I never asked you to."

"Yes, you did—"

"Blaine, I think that's the problem with us." Kurt interrupts firmly. Blaine is stunned stupid that he can't find the words for a comeback. Sure that Blaine is silent, Kurt sighs, swipes at his eyes, and lets out a breath. "I think we were blinded into thinking that what we were doing was out of love."

It dawns on him painfully, the light too much for him to bear that he squints to focus on Kurt’s shaking image.

"But it wasn't, wasn't it." Blaine ventures and he _loathes_ how the words sound _right_ on his tongue, "We were selfish, assumed it was what the other wanted too because it was we wanted so much."

"I'm sorry that I didn't notice how much you hated it here." Kurt apologizes softly.

Blaine's sorry that he couldn't adapt to New York. He's sorry that all the things he was doing for Kurt was actually for himself because he didn't want Kurt to move on without him. He didn't want them to wake up. But... it really is selfish, delaying the inevitable, trying to drag Kurt back to bed when he’s ready to face the day. Maybe it's time to pull back the covers, the snooze alarm works only so far.

But Blaine doesn’t know what’s next. He has spent a good three years devoted. What is life after Kurt Hummel?

"What do you want me to do?" Blaine brokenly asks. He doesn't know and for the first time in his life, Kurt is a stranger to him.

"I don't want to dictate your life."

"Just..." Blaine's crying, he knows it because Kurt's features twist with distress that Blaine knows Kurt doesn’t like to show. "Please, Kurt."

Kurt shakes his head, glaringly uncomfortable under the glowing bulbs of their living room. Outside a siren wails in the bright New York evening. Everything is illuminated for Blaine, clear to see, however, Blaine stubbornly glosses past it.

"Please, Blaine." Kurt echoes but sounds far different from Blaine’s plea. This is someone who has taken a road, and Blaine is aware that Kurt is not one to turn back. Blaine's lips twitch up subconsciously at the determination behind the cool gaze. He has liked that about Kurt ever since they matched eyes years ago and wonders how long ago it was when he saw that.

Blaine shuffles forward and Kurt jerks back reflexively, tense until Blaine crosses by him, heading toward their shared bedroom. "I'll be gone before morning," Blaine says. Blaine can’t take the air in their—Kurt’s—apartment anymore, whilst crouching down Blaine digs his suitcase out under bags and shoes and all of Kurt's stylish accouterments. Kurt lingers awkwardly near the frame of the door, hovering between entering and staying back. Kurt politely offers his help, tells Blaine to stay the night, but Blaine is adamant.

"I want to do this by myself," Blaine whispers gently. "I say call up Rachel and have... you two haven't hung out in a while." Each word scrapes his dry throat. He folds his pants neatly into a corner of the suitcase.

"You sure?" Kurt is dubious, but Blaine notices that Kurt’s not fully stopping him. This is his resolve.

"I think I'll be fine." Blaine shakily responds; a knot in his stomach unfurling to his relief. He says it again stronger.

_"I'm going to be fine."_

It is the last thing Kurt hears from Blaine for about six months.

Blaine's mind carries forward as he then remembers scattered events; he buys the first plane ticket out of New York, winds up in Chicago, calls Cooper after hours of lip-biting indecision. Luck has it Cooper's to be doing a commercial shoot where Blaine is in two days; Blaine is told to stick around until he arrives there. In the taxi cab, Blaine blankly watches as sleazy neon lights pass him by en route to whichever lodging the taxi cab driver pleases to choose. Blaine reflects that he paid a hefty sixty dollars in fare, and recollects that back then, he didn’t care.

The dingy motel room distracts little from Blaine's whirring thoughts that he comes to the conclusion he needs to take a walk. It's a horrible idea in general, wandering aimlessly in the rough suburbs at this time of night, but fear is but a tiny voice among the unceasing rabble in Blaine’s aimless mind.

The city is not quiet; it will not hang its head silently but rebels on, raucous laughter and loud music spilling from the buildings onto the streets like leftover ooze. Blaine keeps to himself, vision dead-straight and legs continue forward no matter what. The walk is for fresh air. There is a call from across the block but Blaine knows it's not for him. It's followed by another and another, all of them beckoning, carried by Chicago’s iconic wind. However, Blaine knows there is no one for him. There is no one for him until _there is._

"Blaine!" A hand lands on his shoulder, gracefully spins him. Blaine’s muscles seize up, surprise over his face, and next chased by shock, which delays Blaine’s recognition. _He_ 's older now, a tad bit taller, a bit more broader in the shoulders, a newsie cap covering the usual hairstyle. There are many ways he has changed, yet the same vibrancy in the dark brown eyes shine. Michael Chang Jr. has a smile of wit, thoroughly amused as he talks, "Thank god it's you, it would be really awkward if it was someone else I was running after yelling like a crazy person."

After so many strangers, Blaine is relieved to see someone whom he knows.

Mike’s voice booms in his ears, but Blaine doesn’t mind. "Man, it's good to see you. It's been two years, I think? What are you here for?"

It hits him. It has been two years that Blaine has talked to Mike. Blaine automatically feeds himself guilt, how many more of his friends has he neglected in the past two years? Or more than that? When Blaine doesn't speak and drops his head, unwilling to explain, Mike's fingers weave tightly behind his back and Blaine is tucked into wool and heat and Mike.

"Really good to see you," Mike murmurs, friendly as ever, "how’s it been? It’s been, really long and...! H-how about you join us for dinner? We’re getting hot wings and cheesy deep-dish pizzas. Your thoughts?"

Blaine quit all sorts of grease beginning senior year and he has a faint idea that Mike's figure is not held up by such food but the notion makes Blaine smile and accept the proposal.

What Blaine realizes as he sits in a booth of some dive bar in Chicago is that Mike's friend is not your conventional girl. Blaine wonders how Mike even got to be friends with her because Lana is inhaling the hot wings so quickly that Blaine swears he is watching the plate diminish in seconds.

"She skipped lunch," Mike helpfully fills Blaine in, taking bites that are coordinated compared to Lana. She moans satisfying gurgles and nods at the explanation. Blaine bites a corner of his pizza, hunger returning as the heavy lead in his stomach has whittled down.

"Also breakfast this morning. God, I hate waking up at six to do pirouettes for two hours." Lana complains, her sticky lips smacking. She takes the final pizza slice from the pan and _devours_ it, which happens to be an understatement from where Blaine is sitting.

"Joffrey's not so bad," Mike chides, ignoring Lana's eye roll. She chuckles and finally wipes sauce from her face and tucks her long hair behind her ears. Two gleaming earrings catch Blaine’s interest for a second until Lana’s russet-toned eyes meet up with Blaine’s gaze. They squint slightly. Lana has a devious expression.

"Mike is teacher's pet." She states smugly and Blaine is curious.

"I am _not_. And a bit juvenile aren't we here? I haven't heard that since fifth grade." Mike’s scoff blows against the side of Blaine’s cheek.

"Our teacher makes these savage noises when Mike is on stage. She claws at him when he's not looking." Lana grabs, her hands curled and pawing the air.

"I'm feeling extremely uncomfortable with this conversation." The smile on Mike's face shows he's somewhat alright with it, though Blaine wants to ask more.

"Mike is her _Adonis_ ." She whispers lustily, leaning forward that her dark brown hair falls over her smudgy mascara-rimmed eyes in what she pulls off as a _sultry_ pose.

Both Lana and Blaine burst out laughing.

Shortly after, the three of them are chatting like old friends. Little by little the time ebbs, the tired rings under Lana's eyes become darker and the half-sigh half-yawns coming from Blaine frequent. Mike interrupts Lana and Blaine's debate, saying that although their discussion of big name coffee shops is riveting, it's past his sleep schedule and that he has offered to walk Blaine home. At the mere mention of sleep schedule, Lana groans and asks for the bill. Blaine turns to Mike by tilt of his head, because since when did Mike decide to play his chauffeur? Mike meets his gaze, nonchalantly greeting and aims the eyes over to Lana who is making miniature whale noises. She clutches her stomach tenderly and sighs out, "I hope I don't get gas. My boyfriend’s going to have a fit."

"You practically ate two plates of hot wings and half of the pizza." Mike recounts and pulls out an encased tablet from his wallet. He hands it to Lana who smirks wide, showing her perfect _Crest Whitestrips®_ advertisement teeth.

"Gee, I wonder if I should take this wallet pill. Seems legit." She blithely comments as her fingers wrap around the tiny disk.

"It's alka-seltzer," Mike informs Blaine and next rounds his sarcastic attention onto Lana, "I carry it around whenever you ask me out for dinner. And don't make me out to be some creep in front of Blaine when you've taken plenty already."

Lana hums and pops the pill with some water. She tells them that her boyfriend will pick her up as they exit the place and waves them goodbye, smirking as she warns them about the cold nights and advises to take penguin formation. Mike says his goodbyes but ignores most of Lana's teasing along with Blaine, who wants to tell Lana that he and Mike are not _that_ way, but refrains from saying so because when did anyone make a joke about Mike being interested in anyone else, specifically the same sex? Blaine’s quiet must have triggered Mike, who chuckles with the response that Lana’s trying to set him up with everyone he’s friendly with and tells Blaine not to mind it too much.

They turn a corner and the drumming noises of the bar scene melts away, nature returning to reclaim the street with its rushing breezes and scattering leaves. There are eerie snaps and pops complementing their otherwise soundless steps, Blaine noticing that they’re walking without a destination since he hasn’t told Mike where he’s staying. Mike’s continuing forward, eyes set upon the distance. His hands are gloved and Blaine’s wishing the same when an undercurrent sweeps by his exposed wrists. “W-where we going?” Chattering teeth buckle Blaine’s jaw and Mike automatically casts his concern at Blaine’s threadbare clothing.

“I don’t know actually,” Mike admits and the two chuckle with disbelief. Blaine figures that Mike was waiting for him to guide the way and give him directions.

“I’m at a small motel not too far from here... but I don’t remember the street. I wasn’t really thinking when I decided to take a look around.” Blaine feels embarrassment creeping up inside him when he really gets it. It’s a blessing that he met Mike by chance, if he hadn’t, Blaine would have spent the night trying to find his way to the hotel in this chill.

Mike laughs, stretching out his arms behind his back. He’s murmuring along the lines of _motel, motel_ under his breath and says, “Tell me about it. You didn’t even wear a jacket. I’d call you something but there’s no point to it.”

“What? What is it, hm?” Blaine challenges, pushing Mike off balance that he almost trips off the curb. He grins cheekily at the affronted face Mike is wearing. It’s a second later that Mike smirks, half-scoffing as he rolls his shoulders and loosens the scarf from his neck. He unnecessarily cracks his knuckles and Blaine’s opening his mouth, about to laugh the overtly masculine display of “toughness” that Mike is mimicking excellently, but instead splutters when Mike throws the scarf at his face.

“Dumbass,” Mike answers with a wide smile and steps onto the sidewalk.  

“Jerk,” Blaine grumbles in reply. His tongue tickles from the fibers of the wool scarf, which he wraps around his neck snugly. After a few moments, he grumpily agrees that it’s moderately better than before.

Mike’s got the address of the motel and they turn left into an alleyway. It’s considerably darker here than it is out on the streets and he feels a weird mix of solitude from the bed of stars he can view in the sky. He sees that Mike’s staring skyward, observing the scattered points of light. Each star is infinitesimal, smaller than the flecks of fuzz on Mike’s scarf, smaller than anything Blaine can come up with, yet it invokes Blaine with the sensation of being microscopic.

“How long are you staying here?”  

There’s a gentle question coming out of nowhere and supposedly everywhere at the same time that Blaine believes the stars are talking to him in their hushed tones. He’s dipped into a cool calm, as if he’s bathed in a soothing elixir made from wind and stardust. He wonders if anyone else feels like this. Blaine feels that the purpose of stars is to give people something to compare themselves to universally and indefinitely. Maybe that’s why watching the stars is peaceful, he concludes. Blaine understands he is so small, with problems that are big to him but are tiny to the world. Big-tiny problems. Big-tiny stars. He imagines that the stars would feel the same.

For two days, Blaine answers and wonders if his voice can even make it up there so high.

“Alone?”

Yes, he’s alone.

“Going back to New York after?”

Blaine shakes his head no, he can’t see the stars from where he lives. Lima’s nice for that reason, he explains, not too much light pollution.

“I know. I miss it there too.”

Blaine hears a soft exhale.

Blaine knows this sigh, this barely audible breath. The stars sound like Mike, who is peering at him under the broad lip of his cap, who is rather close and has an arm around his shoulder and is patting the clothed skin there. Their hips are touching side-by-side and Lana was right, penguin formation is much better. They waddle awkwardly out of the alleyway like the fat birds.

Mike walks Blaine all the way to the door of his room and when Mike tells him to sleep well, Blaine does. The day after Blaine wakes up with Mike’s scarf looped over his shoulders and calls to set up lunch or whatever the closest thing is to return Mike’s scarf. Blaine thinks it’s an excuse to see Mike again and gets ready because even though it’s an excuse, it doesn’t mean he can’t dress nice. He missed dressing nice. Most of all, he missed people who aren't strangers.

 _Linner_ (Blaine wonders if it was that the correct term for lunch-dinner?) goes well. But then Mike says something that causes the chicken and brie sandwich Blaine has eaten to lump unpleasantly in his stomach. “I thought you and Kurt lived in New York.” The way Mike says is not a question. Blaine must have had a caught in the headlights expression because Mike’s already talking. News travels down a grapevine rapidly especially if the _berries_ are ready to burst, Mike sardonically comments. “I didn’t pry or anything, Tina told me she heard it from Rachel. Guess they need to talk about this sort of thing to get it out of their system.” Mike’s strangely aloof in expression and eats with that unaffected air.

Tina and Mike still spoke? Blaine is curious because from what he recalls _—_

“I remember you and Tina broke _—_ up. Oh.” Blaine blurts out and Mike is the one who is suffering from indigestion from the sour look on Mike's face.

“We’re still friends. And don’t remind me, I feel awful that she tattooed my name over her body once.”

“She changed it _—_ ”

“I know, ‘make change forever’, don’t stay the same...” Mike’s smile is tight but Blaine’s cracking it bigger. “What? Why’re you laughing?”

“You… you’ve changed quite a bit, Mike Chang.”

Mike raises a glass and a brow in confused thanks. “Want to tell me your side of the story? Apparently Tina and  Rachel think you’re acting very _out-of-character_.”

Blaine groans and massages a knot at the side of his temple. “What, exactly, is _my character_? I’m having a very tough time since life seemed to forget my script. Kurt, he... he knows what he’s doing. He’s really talented; he probably wrote his life script himself. Acted, written, directed, and produced by Kurt Hummel.” Blaine’s a lot more jealous than he should be.

“I think everyone cast you a role that wasn’t very clear.” Mike neutrally states. “And it was hard for you to juggle everyone’s expectations and finally dropped it all.”

Blaine disagrees completely. “But I’m not the victim in this story,” Blaine argues, wanting to cross his point that _no, Mike, he’s the screw-up_ _—_ “I’m like, the obstacle. The big boulder blocking the path of true happiness.” Blaine might be _slightly_ dramatic and descriptive. But it is in his nature. That’s the one thing that Blaine is certain of his innate character.

“Boulders can have feelings too.” Mike says kindly and pats Blaine’s hand in comforting sort of way. It should be patronizing if it were someone else, but Blaine chuckles and shoves Mike’s hand back playfully. They play a sloppy version of pat-a-cake for a bit until the waitress chooses the inopportune moment to pour them more water.

Sighing, Blaine wipes at his eyes which are pathetically tearing up and pretends they are tears from lack of sleep or ones from friendly laughter. Maybe if he tries hard enough, it’ll fool both of them. From Mike’s silence, Blaine knows it doesn’t. He croaks out instead, “I thought if we were together it would solve everything.”

“Most people think that too, I did when I went through my share. Blaine, I’m not going to say that suddenly being single again is the best feeling in the world, but believe me, sometimes there’s nothing better than solitary comfort.” Mike leans back in his chair and raises his hand to signal the waitress for the bill.

The girl squeezes in between the tables to drop a black checkbook and resumes her rounds, not knowing that Blaine is looking at her retreating figure, faintly wondering how old she is and if she enjoys her job, if that’s the character she’s ought to be.

Cooper meets up with Blaine the next day. Despite his brother’s lack of tact, the acting workshops must’ve paid off since Cooper can read the scene better now. He doesn’t say anything about New York or Kurt and just offers Blaine a side-hug when Blaine finds the location of the set, which is an empty warehouse with spotlights and green screens. Wearing large aviator shades and a ridiculously tight black T-shirt even though it’s Chicago Winter, Cooper offers Blaine coffee that his personal assistant has brewed for him. Blaine declines since the P.A. probably spat in it but Cooper shrugs and drinks it down to get enough “pizzazz” for the commercial on diabetes awareness.

The airplane ride back into Lima is.

That’s it, end of sentence. It’s _is_ . Blaine can’t fathom anything memorable about the trip, except for how unmemorable it is. When he is home, hand still on the doorknob, taking in the image of the foyer and the stairs leading upstairs, of the family photos hung on the walls, instead of the studio apartment and eclectic “furniture” Kurt has found in European thrift shops that Blaine had expertly placed in the corners. Blaine has half-expected himself to break down because it’s actually happening, Kurt’s so far away from him, and Blaine is alone. But he doesn’t because his attention is brought elsewhere than his self-loathing for a minute. His parents say their dissertations when Blaine slides his suitcase into his bedroom closet. “I’ve got jetlag,” is Blaine’s excuse when his mother calls him for his favorite dinner of roasted vegetables and lemongrass salmon. Her face is blank, but her _okay_ is more understanding than any other apologies Blaine has heard. However, Blaine still feels guilty when he crawls into his bed.

It’s only been three days and he’s re-learning to breathe stale air instead of the mint-cucumber-citrus scent of the expensive moisturizer that Kurt graciously rubs onto his neck every morning when they had woke up together. Blaine thinks it’s masochistic that he’s thinking about this at 5 AM—7 o’clock, Kurt’s time—because now he’s noticing on how his single bed is so large. After a beat of silently debating with himself, Blaine pulls out the pillow from under his head and kind of rotates it until it’s vertical. He fluffs it up some and gently places it next to his side and wraps an arm around its false torso and awkwardly spoons it. It feels weird being the big spoon, because Blaine’s used to someone holding onto him and making him feel like he’s a blessed life line.

Blaine’s surprised when he wakes up at 2 in the afternoon (something he has never done in a long while), there’s a new text for him. It’s from Mike, and Blaine wonders when he ever inputted Mike’s contact information as he swipes the notification.

From Mike, the text reads: **Hey, are you back in Lima now? How was your flight?**

Blaine types back: **Yes, and I don’t even remember how the flight was. And, when did we trade numbers? ...Not that I’m complaining, I just can’t recall that I’m considering that I may have short term memory loss. Your prognosis?**

Mike replies: **It was when you and Lana were comparing Kona coffee to Arabica. Quite a rousing conversation. I ninja’d my way into your pocket and put my number in there, after getting your distracted permission, of course. I'm no doctor but... Prognosis: get some Omega-3. It’s brain food.**

Blaine smiles and closes his eyes. Brain food. He'll get some food when his stomach feels less airy. 

**Thank you, Mike.**

**No big deal. Don't worry about it. In character, or not, you're human. Being human means you're capable of change of your own accord. Not because someone makes you change for their story. :)**


	2. Last Friday Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Friday Night was conceived around 2012, written early 2013, and remained unfinished. The idea was taking almost every lyric from the song and adapting it into the fic. The concept is Blaine, a university student, has a huge crush on his mysterious math tutor, Mike. He doesn't know anything about him and wants to get to know him better outside of their study sessions. He gets his chance when his older brother Cooper calls him during their lesson to pick him up after a night of drinking. Chaos ensues as Blaine enlists the help of his tutor to locate his drunk brother all across town.
> 
> Hints at Blaine/Mike/Sam. 
> 
> PG-13, maybe R? for crude language, drug use (used for humor), violence, and the tropes you'd come to expect from a "bro's night out" sort of movie. Camp comedy.

SATURDAY - MORNING 8:00 AM

The incessant ringing of his alarm had Blaine toss around, muttering to himself as he blindly reached out to hit snooze. It was Saturday morning and Blaine wanted to curl up in bed and possibly die unless he was going to get at least another seven hours. He smacked his bedside table but the alarm went on in its victory. Grunting, Blaine tried to remember where in the world he dropped his phone last night. It was like a game of Battleship, Blaine had to find and if the alarm droned for too long, destroy. Blaine stretched his arm and patted for the rectangular object, digging in deeper towards his right, and was somewhat delighted at the dip in the mattress. He lunged and fell upon warm, smooth, and slightly fuzzy skin. Blaine poked it, thinking it of his arm, but when he cracked one sleepy hazel eye, he discovered that his stationary arm was resting next to his chest.  

There was a stranger in his bed. 

Blaine kicked the covers off with a surprised exclamation that blended in perfectly with the constant blaring of his phone alarm. Quickly he rushed over to silence the noise but his bedmate woke up nonetheless with a grunt, stopping Blaine from scooping up his phone. The stranger rubbed the sleep from his fair lashes and brushed his sun-blond hair from his eyes. Abashed that he was gawking at the guy Blaine dropped his gaze to his own naked (naked?!) body. He froze for a second until he yanked the blanket to coil around his waist, further uncovering pale skin of the dozy figure in his bed. The stranger yawned and rubbed at his exposed waist. Blaine all but shoved the blankets back onto the bed, crouched, and frantically groped for his underwear, pants, anything. He found a tight black shirt to use as a cover until he located his drawer and changed as fast as his limbs could muster. Blaine did his best to ignore the cut-off sound of his alarm, thanking the stranger silently for getting rid of one nuisance. The blankets rustled and the man (naked man, his brain pointlessly corrected him) shamelessly stretched with a noisy groan as if it were a normal morning's happenstance. The floor creaked as the stranger walked about and Blaine saw from the corner of his eye a flash of well-developed abdominal muscles and a godsend in the ass department, which was clothed under snug boxer-briefs a second later. 

Thinking about butts had Blaine pinpoint an annoying agitation centered in the end of his spine which he noticed presently. It could be a weird sleep position, or... Blaine leaned back slightly to test it out and was rewarded by a sharp shock. Oh fuck. It was just his luck. There was a pounding in his head, a hammer bashing into the soft steel of brain matter, but despite this he could identify what caused the pain hovering his waist. Blaine's hands slid down his face and he let out a sad whimper. 

"What?" The other man asked, washed out jeans saddled over his gaunty hips and a yellow polo in his hands. He practically flung himself into the clothes and Blaine aptly concluded the guy must've done this before. Blaine needed to sit down, take a breather, and figure out this mess. Maybe get water. Certainly a shower, he smelled like a cheap hotel mini-bar. But first Blaine wanted answers and as much as he had deferred from talking to the stranger, the circumstances for clarity called for an awkward conversation of great proportions.

Sighing behind a hand, Blaine decided to skip the morning pleasantries. "Can you tell me what happened and please spare me the details."

The room was quiet, save for a shower running somewhere, and then was replaced by unexpected laughter.

"You are exactly what you told me." The man--no, upon additional inspection by Blaine, the stranger looked no more than his early twenties: a boy--chuckled and seemed nonchalant compared to Blaine who was debating whether or not to throttle and demand an explanation.

"Excuse me?" Blaine griped instead because the other boy was probably a good eighty pounds of solid muscle or more and Blaine had the disadvantage of acute assburn.

"First thing you said when I met you was, 'I'm a lightweight and I'm already wasted.'" The man recalled and Blaine resisted the urge to slap himself. 

"Second thing you said, 'I'm so gonna forget this tomorrow. Suuuuper fucked.' And you're true to your word." Blaine bravely resisted the urge to punch his own self in the jaw. The most irritating thing was, the guy did such a spot-on impression that Blaine swore it was listening to a recording of himself.

"Alright, you--you're not sparing me the details." Blaine let out a huff and glared even though it was useless. It made him feel better.

"It's Sam," the boy rolled his eyes, "and I'm glad we didn't fuck because dude, learn to remember names?"

"What?" Blaine's head whipped around to witness Sam's shrug.

"Hey, no offense but if you're like this the morning after, you really make the other person feel bad--"

"Wait, did you say we didn't do it?" Blaine squeaked out the words.

"It? Sex? Yeah. You don't have to sugarcoat it, we're both adults, say the word--"

"Then who did I and who did you--"

"Also, Blaine, pretty rude when you keep interrupting me, man--"

"I just want to know!"

Sam tilted his head to the side with an exasperated frown and Blaine's eyes made a beeline to the door to his washroom. He hadn't noticed that the sound of running water had dissipated. Gulping with dread, Blaine inched toward the door, curiosity and fear urging his hand to curl around the knob and twist. The door swung open without a hitch. A cloud of steam escaped from the washroom as Blaine stepped back and once the fog was lifted, Blaine peeked inside.

His mouth dropped an inch at the figure towel-drying his hair.

His math tutor stood in front of Blaine's washroom mirror, a towel on his waist and another draped over his shoulders. His skin was a tinge pink from the heat but his face was blooming into a darker red the longer they stared at each other. He bit at his bottom lip before saying, "Morning."

 

LAST FRIDAY NIGHT - 7:23 PM

"I can't bear to look at these numbers anymore," Kurt said from on top of Blaine's bed, sighing loudly and facing the ceiling. His hand rubbed at the center of his eyebrow to soothe his oncoming headache. "I'm a visual arts major, why exactly do I need to know functions again?" 

Blaine leaned back in his chair, Kurt's complaints having their toll on Blaine's studying. He closed his notebook and stuck his pencil on his ear and watched as his best friend scowled at the worn out textbook. "Because we have to be well-rounded in the case our majors don't turn out well." Blaine smiled at the little scoff of indignation coming from Kurt.

"Nope, I'm done." Kurt sat up suddenly and turned to give a pithy look. "Come on, Blaine. It's Friday night! I promised Adam we'd spend time together." Kurt had his phone in his hands and smiled as the backlight greeted him. "Look, the big dork sent me like 11 texts." Kurt was grinning widely as he passed his screen over.

"Most of these were because he pressed the enter key way too early," Blaine sourly said. Kurt plucked his phone from Blaine's grip and rolled his eyes, slightly offended.

"You're just saying that because you're jealous."

"N-no I'm not!" countered Blaine but his stutter had given it away as Kurt's smirk pulled up higher. 

"Besides, I know you only wanted me to stay with you so you didn't have to wait alone until your prince--" Kurt got cut off by Blaine's approaching hand and immediately dodged it. "--Blaine, you know I'm teasing. You're so hung up on him! Isn't he just your tutor? You only see him once a week."

Blaine nodded sullenly and let himself plop onto his bed. Kurt patted Blaine on the back and set his phone aside. "Blaine, have you even talked to him outside of tutoring?" Blaine shook his head, causing the flimsy dorm bed to vibrate sympathetically.

"He's really cool... He's patient with me, explains things so I get them like _that_ , and when we talk, we get excited about the same stuff. Movies, shows, sociopolitical views and the increasing burden on globalization of food and resources... He actually like listening to the same kind of music when we take breaks." Blaine mumbled into his bed covers and turned his head so he could say, "I had this plan set in my head but I keep chickening out. If I wasn't so... ugh. I don't even know anything about him."

"You could, you know, ask him out." Kurt rolled his eyes, seeing Blaine pout, and ended up checking his watch. "Anyway, I'm leaving now, don't worry. I know it's time. If you want to hang out with us later, you're welcome to. Adam and I are going to see a drag show at Scandals."

"It's not that easy... I know, I know. And... thanks. I'll think about it. Drag's not really my thing." Blaine sighed, wishing Kurt to leave and stay at the same time. 

Mike was just so mysterious! Smart, kind, and always found a way to make Blaine laugh or smile. How in the world was Blaine ever going to be interesting to his math tutor? Be unforgettable?

He hadn't known he had said it out loud until Kurt laughed.

"Then find an adventure to share with him, Clueless Romantic." Kurt closed the door behind him, leaving Blaine to think.

When would an adventure drop in his lap?

[...]

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chronological timeline goes as follows:
> 
> FRIDAY 7:30 PM - Mike arrives.
> 
> 8:00 PM - Cooper calls Blaine to pick him up, he's very drunk. Blaine obliges and tries to cancel the class early, but Mike says he'll tag along with Blaine. They take Blaine's work car to a bar in the shadiest area of town. Blaine, like the lovable fool we know, leaves his company's work car on running at a loading zone, confident in finding Cooper quick. They enter the bar and find out Cooper caused a bar fight. Several men are pissed off and are looking for someone to blame. Blaine and Mike hightail out, only to discover Blaine's car has been towed. Some rowdy men learn Blaine's the brother of the bar trasher and decide to chase him. Getting away, Mike and Blaine steal a guy's car, Blaine realizes he left his wallet and phone in his car. Mike drives.
> 
> 9:00 PM - They find out there's a ton of drugs in the back seat, and the other cars are driving after them. As Blaine tries to call Cooper on Mike's phone, Mike shows there's actually a "warrant out for my arrest" as he used to be an underground drag racer. The two manage to outdrive the bar patrons, and the cops, and figure out Coop's at a sorority party at a college nearby. Blaine and Mike ditch the car on the campus quad next to the sorority.
> 
> 10:00 PM - At Sugar Motta's sorority party, Blaine and Mike search for Cooper. Blaine and Mike are unaware a guy named Rory stole some drugs from the car. Rory is trying to impress Sugar, and ends up crashing the chandelier to the floor. Campus cops are called, and Blaine and Mike run away, but they accidentally ingest a little of the drug dust. High as fuck, they end up ditching their dusted clothes whilst running through the campus' woods and jump into the campus' lake. They find two abandoned dresses, and even though it's creepy to find abandoned girls' clothes at night, they have nothing to wear. They dress up and try to find a place where they can get a phone. The two don't notice Brittany and Santana, who resurface from the water. They have been skinny dipping.
> 
> 11:00 PM - Trying to find a place to call a cab, Blaine and Mike are ushered into a line by Unique, the trans owner of the bar. She mistakes them for participants for Amateur Drag Hour at Scandals. Blaine and Mike are pushed on stage and perform terribly. An embarrassed Blaine spots a horrified Kurt. Blaine explains the situation to Kurt after he is given a change of clothes by Unique.
> 
> 12:00 AM - Begrudgingly but also wanting to be Blaine's fairy gay brother, Kurt gives Blaine his phone to try to find Cooper and spend the night with Mike. He also promises to help Blaine get his car back since Adam knows "people." Blaine tries to pay for Kurt's drink by logging into his E-Wallet but finds out his credit cards have been maxed out. Upon reading the transcripts, Blaine sees someone has been buying drinks at a different bar, which is close by. It has to be Cooper.
> 
> 1:00 AM - Blaine and Mike's next destination is in walking distance and Mike asks questions about Kurt, showing small signs of jealousy. Blaine assuages Mike's worries, telling Mike that Kurt and him are only friends. Blaine admits he liked knowing Mike better and he's sorry about how much of a mess the night is. Mike kisses Blaine, telling him he hasn't had this fun in a while, not one has given him the chance to be more than just the tutor. Blaine asks Mike to not forget their kiss tomorrow morning.
> 
> 2:00 AM - They get into the nightclub and FINALLY THEY SPOT COOPER! He is dancing near the DJ's booth. Blaine is about to throttle him but the song changes and he loses sight of his brother. A segue of sexy dancers, one being Sam, storm the stage and the crowd goes wild. Mike helps Blaine onto a table to look for Blaine's brother. They try talking to Sebastian the bartender but he won't say anything unless they pay! They drink to try to get the bartender to spill about Cooper.
> 
> 3:00 AM - They learn Cooper has been taken back to the secret VIP, and only the sexy strippers know how to get there. Blaine is a lightweight and wasted, and tells this to Sam. Sam, being concerned about another patron possibly vomiting on him, asks if Blaine wants a different drink. Blaine asks for a Ginger Ale. Sam then recognizes Mike for being his math tutor too! Sam tells Blaine how Mike saved him from failing a class and losing his scholarship, and helps the guys to the VIP room. They find Cooper passed out. They call a cab but everyone except Sam is drunk out of their mind. Sam takes the cab with them to make sure everyone gets home safe.
> 
> 4:00 AM - Blaine sort of remembers fuzzy details after Cooper exits the cab. Details involving making out and such.
> 
> SATURDAY 8:00 AM - Start of this story.
> 
> \-- As you can tell, it was a messy story haha.


	3. NEW YORK > MANHATTAN > PERSONALS > MISSED CONNECTION

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was from a 1x1 roleplay which never went anywhere, as many 1x1s tend to go. Written in late 2015, maybe early 2016.
> 
> PG. 1st Person POV. Hope it doesn't sound awkward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS WAS THE STORY OF HOW WE MISSED.
> 
> It was the final game of Super Bowl XLV. On February 6th, 2011, the Pittsburgh Steelers and the Green Bay Packers dueled to see who would win the trophy. In a sports bar just off of Greenwich Village in New York City, New York, an aspiring playwright and a budding choreographer hit it off.
> 
> They didn't know each other's names, as they were too quickly lost in the excitement of their conversation, and the game that they had passionately gone with their crew to watch was nothing but a subtle backdrop.
> 
> There was something there. They could feel it between them. But before they could examine what it was, the crowd screamed in chaotic frenzy. Bodies pulled away from each other, and despite the attraction and magnetism, could not return to each other's side.
> 
> Blaine Anderson and Mike Chang missed their connection.

**[FEB. 11. 2011] GREEN JERSEY. BRIGHT SNEAKERS. SMIRK MORE THAN A SMILE. - M4M (GREENWICH VILLAGE)**

 

Hi there, I don’t know if you would read this. God knows I don’t.   
  
But, it has been such a strange night that it doesn’t hurt to try, right? And I’m willing to put faith into anything to be able to meet you again.  
  
Okay. I know I sound rather over the top already. But I think that you had figured that out about me. You smirk in the most awful way, you know. I’ll admit it’s handsome, though–but in a most infuriating way. Don’t get cocky, you. I wished I could I have been more cross with you when you told me that my team was going to lose. I told you no in response, and also? _Rude._  
  
And that’s how it all started, how I ended up not even watching the TV screen playing a game that I had been half dying to watch since it had been announced, just because I couldn’t take my eyes off of you, and your horribly mischievous smirk. Like you know everything that was going to happen.  
  
You told me that you were studying to be a choreographer. I told you that I’m struggling through my dumb BFA class at Tisch, and I had a huge assignment due but I sucked at writing plays. I only took the class because I heard the professor was good.  
  
_Why._ I remembered you asked me that. I said it was because I didn’t know what to write about. Then you replied, you’ll find it. You took a sip of your drink and smiled. I don’t know why but I believed you.  
  
Everyone got loud right after that. Someone probably scored. It was hard to hear you, and my own beer was making things a little hazy. But I remember that you had a green jersey on, Green Bay Packers, and bright sneakers. I think you said you were a semi-sneakerhead. I think I made a joke because you laughed. I liked the sound of it.   
  
Then you said something and I couldn’t hear because of the noise. So I asked you to say it again and leaned over to listen, and just as I did, some people came over to the bar and shoved us aside. We got really close. I think I pressed up against you almost everywhere. Sorry about that, by the way. But when I looked up to see if you were, and you looked down to see if I was okay– _were you?_

Okay, that is. _I wasn’t._   
  
I wasn’t okay because that’s when I realized that maybe I liked you more than I ought to have. That our whatever-long conversation made me feel less alone in the busiest city in the world. Universe, even. 

We were tightly packed. I thought that maybe we were going to kiss. We sure looked like it. We were just a scant apart from each other’s lips, I felt your warm breath. You probably felt mine. Perhaps this is wishful thinking, but I swear I thought you would kiss me. I wouldn’t mind if we did.   
  
Before we could say or move, there was a roar from the crowd around us. People threw up their drinks, their hats, everything went crazy. There was pushing, shouting, and hugging. There was so much happening at once, then I lost sight of you.   
  
My friends pulled me away. I think yours did too. I tried to tell that I didn’t care that we lost, that I needed to be back at the bar, but no one was listening; I think they thought I was depressed. They nudged me, told me to keep it together while we went to a different bar to coast over our losses with more alcohol like responsible adults. By the time I got a hold of my bearings and wrenched away my nosy friends, I couldn’t find you anywhere in the crowd.    
  
Maybe your crew decided to take the party out on the road. From the sounds outside the bar, it made sense. I decided to leave as well. I thought I might find you out on the streets.   
  
I think you can come to a conclusion on how this story ends. I didn’t get to find you. But I do want to find you. I may have lost the super bowl, but I want to be able to win you over.   
  
If you see this posting, I want to ask–do you want to get coffee sometime? I hate that I never got your name.   
  
Let me know?

 

* * *

 

  
do NOT contact me with unsolicited services or offers   
post id: 232498349 | posted: 2011-02-12 1:11am | email to friend | ♥ best of

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS THE STORY OF HOW WE FUMBLE.
> 
> Fast forward five years.
> 
> Mike Chang, thirty, is a well-connected choreographer in the field who is looking for the next generously-figured paycheck. He is in a committed relationship with his job.
> 
> Mike's relationships have ended with a similar note--they never feel that Mike truly is committed to them; there's stability but no passion. Second-rate compared to Mike's love for his work, one by one, Mike's past lovers fade back. To Mike, it's just a small thing. He'll find someone compatible sooner or later. There's no rush. For Mike, anyway.
> 
> His parents are none too happy at their son being a talked-about bachelor. They urge him. So when the pressure of marriage befalls Mike, he can't help but consider the request of his parents--find a suitable wife other than work. He meets a naive, budding actress named Rachel, and he discovers that she might be it--perhaps he'll come to love her and be as passionate as she is. Mike proposes, and his wedding is set in a year's course.
> 
> A month into their celebrated engagement, Rachel tells Mike of exciting news. She is cast in an upcoming original Broadway musical--one written by an Off-Broadway indie-darling playwright. Since this might be her big break, she asks her future husband to help her make a good first impression. On the date of the first cast meeting, Rachel gleefully introduces Mike to him.
> 
> But Mike, to his shock, already recognizes who it is.
> 
> Blaine Anderson, twenty-five, is an accomplished playwright in the Off-Broadway scene, who is starting to dip his toes into the Broadway pool. His plays are appreciated by many for its poetics but often criticized for romances that are always unfulfilled.
> 
> Blaine's works have been influenced by his love life, one that is a long messy string of failed attempts. And Blaine has tried. He has had boyfriends from One to Four tell him it's over. Five to Eight wants to be friends. Nine to Eleven are seeing other people. Twelve has cheated. Thirteen cheated on. Fourteen, is now with Fifteen. But for Blaine, no one compares to the possibility of Zero--the possibility of the almost.
> 
> His friends, an actress named Tina, and a director named Artie, urge Blaine to move on from that one chance encounter five years ago. Blaine'll never see that guy again.
> 
> But Blaine, to his surprise, realizes his almost has become an actual.
> 
> The guy from five years ago is here, shaking his hand, and Blaine can't help but notice that bright golden band around the man's hand.
> 
> His almost-actual is already gone.


	4. there’s this tune i found (that makes me think of you somehow) and i play it on repeat.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whatever they did, it was an endless loop. And one day, it was going to break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written in 2016.
> 
> In this universe, Blaine and Mike are rivals whose philosophical divisions lead them to butt heads constantly. Mike subtly antagonizes Blaine with his ideas of tradition and "rightful" behavior, whereas Blaine keeps pushing Mike to go beyond what he's been told and think for himself. Also there's magic but shhh shhh. 
> 
> Warnings for violent imagery, angry kisses -- your run-of-the-mill rival romance.

Instead of dignifying with an answer, _he_ locks their stares together and then has the nerve to tear it away, flicking his head away as if the sight in front of his eyes wasn’t worth his time. Blaine’s blood boils, anger electrifying the hazel in his own eyes as his brows settle in a lowered arch. So that’s it? 

“What do you want? Like seriously, what do you want from me!” Blaine’s now registered that he’s the one who shouted. Made the other lithe, imposing figure abort a graceful step forward just so that _he_ could look back with such graceless expression. A half shrug is the response, falling off of one shoulder like a fleck of dust. And that’s what sets Blaine off. 

He throws up his hands, stomping forward, teeth bared as he shouts, “I’ve tried to be a good person to you, heck, even friends with you after the crap we had to go through together, and you still treat me like I’m an idiot. What is wrong, okay? Why do you hate me!” There’s a finger jabbed into a hard chest and Blaine glares up at blank, almost-bored eyes. That’s what enraging most of all. That _he_ doesn’t even give a damn about Blaine, and Blaine’s the one who is twisted up like this. Blaine sucks in a breath when he sees the other smirk, not kindly.

_“Why do you want me to like you.”_

The tone is crisp. Unflinching. _He_ takes a step forward into Blaine’s space, not caring at the startled breath in response and the hand moving off – because _he_ ’s already grabbed the wrist, tight into his fist. _He_ yanks Blaine forward, just to laugh at how more distressed Blaine is, and Blaine  _is._

_“Are you that desperate to have everyone love you?”_

Blaine’s eyes widen and fury rushes into his face, reddening from fury and indignation because how dare _he_ – he pulls back his wrist but it’s locked. Blaine kicks up, swinging his leg, but he’s slow. The other uses Blaine’s momentum, leans back. Blaine spins, his arm now behind his back and it sparks in pain. Then he’s shoved, arm released. Blaine grabs his injured arm, blazing with resentment at the young man who is barely a foot away, who has such an unaffected light to their features.

_“I thought so. Pathetic.”_

The figure turns his back. Blaine bristles. The guy is going. If Blaine too just walked away… But he can’t. He can’t give up. 

 "You’re the one that’s pathetic. At least I live and love with passion in my life. You’re nothing more than a robot!“ 

_“What did you say?“_

There’s a dangerous, foolish,  _stupid_  tingle in Blaine’s hands. A terrible giddiness that’s making it hard to catch a breath. That sharp rebuke, finally, there’s some feeling. Some damned feeling. Blaine can’t stop himself.

“I pity you.”  

The broad backside tenses. Large hands ball up. The other man faces him again, and there’s that thrumming in the back of Blaine's mind, a deep sounding bass that’s increasing in tempo. _He_ ’s angry. Good.

_“Pity me – the one who actually knows how to take care of myself.“_

They’re coming back together, electrons spinning around a nucleus. This is an orbit. Blaine laughs at the comment, the other must have some disgustingly high threshold for egotistical comments. 

Well, two can play at that game.

“I can take care of myself. You aren’t special.“ 

The resounding huff of disbelief is to be expected, Blaine doesn’t lose his footing, instead stands up tall to the wall in front of him.

_“And you are?“_

They’re in such proximity to feel each other’s breaths, pretend they don’t have an impact on each other, know that they do. Blaine has courage. Knows the other doesn’t. He leans up and laughs in _his_ face. 

"No one gives a fuck about you." 

The livid glare directed his way settles in the pit of Blaine’s stomach in the most awfully exhilarating way. _He_ pulls out the worst in Blaine and perhaps Blaine likes it. Gets to put all of that repressed battery acid anger to good use.

_"And people do about you?"_

He should have seen it coming, the way that they orbit one another, wildly circling like an ouroboros chasing its tail, that they would eclipse. The rough grip on his collar yanks Blaine in and then pushes him back, knocking Blaine off balance. Blaine’s falling but if there’s one thing about this thing between them, Blaine won’t do it alone. He claws at shoulders, dragging the other back with him. If he’s going down, the other is going down with him. They stumble, bodies mismashed, and Blaine winces when his back collides against a wall and mouth crashes against the other’s lips. It is a classless kiss, more about devouring and wounding the other than it is anything worth deeper meaning. He is bitten and he scratches back, makes sure that every action has an equal reaction. Taking a breath means to return again, hands shoving and taking because they can.

_"I saved you."_

It is whispered into his ear, heated. Blaine grits his teeth when a hand drops down to run across his side, doesn’t stop at his waist, and grasps his thigh in impertinence. He follows by pulling hair. Liking it when the other sucks in a breath between his teeth, glares at him. Irritation mars the once blank face, and finally there’s some emotion that Blaine can hold onto.

"I saved you too.”

Blaine says but it’s cut off. _He_ ’s trying to shut Blaine up, and so Blaine twists in the kiss, bites the other in hopes it’ll bruise and bleed. Blaine’s satisfied by a groan, thinking the other boy is getting off on this is strangely funny. Blaine’s pride swells, seeing that he’s winning but it’s short-lived when their mouths sloppily slide off, and now there are teeth on his neck. Someone bucks, another shudders.

 _“I hate you so much.”  
_ is pressed into his neck, and Blaine pinches his eyes tight, grasping onto the back of a sweat-soaked shirt as the mouth works against his skin. No, don’t leave a mark, is what he wants to say but words don’t come to him because he doesn't need to say it. A moan comes instead. He can barely register anything through the sounds of heavy breathing and wet smacking. But what the other has said, somehow it reemerges, like a purplish bruise that only hurts when it’s touched. How deep is him in Blaine’s veins? Does Blaine hate him?

“I… I don’t.”

The words drop. This time alone. Everything stops. Blaine leans back against the wall, the other draws back as well. Both of them are panting, their breaths irritated and regretful. Blaine can’t bear to look, tilts his face down. He hears a sigh. It’s tired.

 _“What do you want from me?”_  Mike Chang asks.

Blaine wakes up. His stomach is flipping and vertigo scrambles his vision when he tries to get up. Push off sweaty bedsheets. Nausea forces its way down Blaine’s esophagus. He’s going to throw up. Quick and tottering steps have Blaine in the washroom, heaving as he tries to rid himself of whatever is plaguing him. However his stomach is empty, his chest is numb. He can’t throw up even though something is lodged in his throat.

He’s so full of love it deeply sickens him. He knows it’s his guilt. 

He knows there's something running along the thin tightrope line of love and hate, and he's the one holding onto it.


End file.
